


Transfusion

by showmeurteef



Series: VCU (Vampire Changkyun Universe) [2]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Kissing, Other, Partial Nudity, Realization, Vampire!Changkyun, big soft loser!hyungwon, implied sexual relationship, no smut - blood drinking is sexual kinda, unrequited love but not really, weight loss/gain from drinking blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showmeurteef/pseuds/showmeurteef
Summary: It isn’t unusual for Changkyun to sink into himself; gripped by a fierce, unparalleled passion that Hyungwon isn’t sure humans have the words to describe, his entire universe condensed into his latest artistic pursuit and the occasional stab of hunger. But he always appears at Hyungwon’s door eventually, overflowing with excitement, dusted with rosin, lips swollen.changkyun lets hyungwon in (aka hyungwon is completely and totally fond of lil vampire changkyun, doesn't rlly realize just how completely and totally fond said lil vampire is of him too)(sequel to in vein but can be read as stand alone)extended/explained warnings within
Relationships: Chae Hyungwon/Lim Changkyun | I.M
Series: VCU (Vampire Changkyun Universe) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590823
Comments: 6
Kudos: 89





	Transfusion

**Author's Note:**

> warnings:  
> \- very light blood/implied past deaths cuz changkyun does feed n has lived for centuries  
> \- kinda near death cuz changkyun takes a bit too much blood from hyungwon but he’s immediately fine
> 
> let me know if u need anything else tagged/explained <33

Hyungwon grinds the heel of his shoe against weathered flagstone, inhaling deeply. It’s become a sort of ritual. Convincing himself that he can feel bits of stone crumble beneath his feet, imagining he’s personally bringing the forces of erosion to Changkyun’s front steps, picturing his footsteps embedded in front of the massive doorway centuries from now. Some poor human sap will wonder who once stood here, how long it took to wear down the top step. And, maybe, Changkyun will tell them.

Hyungwon tugs at his shirtsleeves. Grimaces at the solid wood and rippled glass and ashy bricks in front of him. Changkyun always gives him a funny look whenever he knocks, like he and Hyungwon’s fingers folded around the iron knocker share some private joke. But Hyungwon freezes every time he tries to reach for the handle. He’s been here a million times —wants to be here a million more— and _yet_...

He puts his back to the door, distracts himself by surveying the gardens. A river of gravel strikes through overgrown grass, looping around dead or dying trees and sidestepping barren flowerbeds to connect the house to the iron gate in the distance. Hyungwon pushes aside the thought that he forgot to lock the gate behind himself, that it's still swaying and creaking in the evening breeze. Lonely cricket chirps are the only interruption to Hyungwon’s unsteady breath. Weak moonlight is the only interruption to the growing darkness.

Changkyun once told him that he used to be an avid gardener, _insisted_ that his pruning skills shouldn’t be underestimated. Hyungown just laughed at his current collection of decrepit, withered plant life. There’s hardly a shred of green in sight, not a single rosebud; just grays and browns, just skeletons. He tries to imagine it: Changkyun in some bygone era, frocks and lace and pocket watches fluttering around him as he stoops to pluck a weed from his petunias. 

But he can only visualize his— _today’s_ Changkyun; the musician, appearing outside of his apartment last week, buzzing with excitement over a new composition. Shears traded for strings, water for ink. Another era ticks on.

Butterflies tug at Hyungwon’s heart. His hands get clammy as soon as he turns to face the door handle again. He groans at the solid slab of wood between Changkyun and the world, between Changkyun and him.

And the door groans back, tentatively swinging open on ancient hinges. His throat squeezes out an embarrassing yelp. Fingers creep out from behind the door, pointed fingernails clicking against the wood as an entire hand emerges to curl around the edge. Spindly bones choked by tangled, purplish veins. Tissue paper skin sliding against weathered grain. Hyungwon’s heart aches.

“You haven’t fed?”

“Well hello to you, too.” Changkyun’s head pokes out from behind the door, all fluffy hair and hollow cheeks, and Hyungwon has to swallow down bursting, tingling fireworks. “Were you gonna come in or...?”

Hyungwon’s brain stumbles over memories. He’s only entered Changkyun’s home uninvited once, after not hearing from him for a couple of weeks. It isn’t unusual for Changkyun to sink into himself; gripped by a fierce, unparalleled passion that Hyungwon isn’t sure humans have the words to describe, his entire universe condensed into his latest artistic pursuit and the occasional stab of hunger. But he always appears at Hyungwon’s door eventually, overflowing with excitement, dusted with rosin, lips swollen. That time, though... 

Hyungwon shudders as he crosses the threshold. Brocade and gold and candlelight smudge against his eyes.

He remembers hearing Changkyun’s agonized wails from the foot of the grand staircase, and his own answering shouts echoing throughout the house. The place never felt so empty, so cold. Changkyun was curled up against shelves of waterlogged books. His bones were too sharp. His look of recognition too surprised. Like he forgot Hyungwon existed, like he forgot Hyungwon cared.

Hyungwon let him have anything, everything he needed, but it was a long time before he stopped hearing Changkyun’s cries.

He wishes it was harder to reconcile that shrivelled, lonely creature with the Changkyun who stands before him now. Shadows flickering in his eyes. Bouncing on bare feet. A robe —silk and chiffon and ambiguously vintage— slipping down a shoulder that’s slightly too frail, too pale.

“So, you _haven’t_ fed?”

“I’ve been _busy_ ,” Changkyun huffs and draws the poor excuse for a garment closer to himself. “And I have something really, _really_ important to show you.”

He skitters down one of the hallways that branches off of the grand foyer, not bothering to wait for Hyungwon to kick his shoes off.

Hyungwon hesitates for a moment, wonders how long it would take Changkyun to notice he isn’t being followed. He gulps down the uncertainty. There’s no reason _not_ to trail behind Changkyun. He smiles to himself, to the cracked portraits lining the hallway, to the back of Changkyun’s little head. A tangled mess of hair bobbing in a dimly lit sea of people Hyungwon doesn’t —and will probably never— know.

Changkyun darts off into the music room, and when Hyungwon catches up to him, he’s perched on a rolling desk chair pulled up to a harpsichord. The instrument is beautiful —rolling pastoral scenes over gilded wood, languidly bowed legs— but the chair is just... black plastic and cheap upholstery, even uglier than the one Hyungwon has at work. 

Hyungwon snorts. Too much time squished into one physical space, generations slamming into each other. Hyungwon wonders if Changkyun even notices.

“I just finished writing this and... I did... The music— uh...” He squints and shrinks, folding his legs beneath himself, far more focused on the strands of hair dangling over Hyungwon’s forehead than he is on his very naked self, very much uncovered by the flimsy robe. He blinks over and over. Sinks further into the chair. Hyungwon cards a hand through his hair to tug Changkyun closer to the present.

“Blood first, then music. Okay?” Changkyun swallows, blinks. Hyungwon deflates. The ghost of a different Changkyun, rounder and brighter, squirms in his hold and mumbles in his ear. Starving is like swimming through cement, he says. Your head’s stuffed with the overwhelming presence of the moment, from a speck of dust crouching beneath the sofa that wasn’t there fifty years ago, to the words you’ve said a thousand times before clattering against your teeth. Too, _too_ much. Terrifying. Suffocating.

Hyungwon all but sprints down the hall and into the kitchen. The fridge grumbles as he throws it open, the usual mess of blood-filled tupperware, vases, and mugs clattering in response. The urge to nag Changkyun about his careless blood storage techniques fizzles out just as quickly as it appears. Changkyun would just: “I’ve lived _this_ long, haven’t I?” with a shrug.

Hyungwon grabs a peeling Gonzo glass —one of a set of twelve Muppets cups that Changkyun never managed to finish collecting before McDonald’s stopped giving them out—, ignores the fridge’s noises of protest as he slams it shut, and fishes around the kitchen drawers for a straw. A cacophony of rusty silverware and mysterious crumbs splits the air. Hyungwon winces at the clattering, at the thought that Changkyun isn’t here to mock his lack of coordination with an elegant flourish of his own spindly fingers. 

He returns to the music room, bendy straw in hand, to find Changkyun unmoved. A papier-mâché gargoyle. Withered. Vacant. He curses and flies over to stoop in front of him, poking the straw between his lips.

“ _Fuck_. You can’t keep letting yourself shrivel up like this, Kyunnie. _Drink_. Please, drink. Just a little, okay?” He rolls the words around his mouth, wetting and condensing them, until their urgency mellows out. He doesn’t know if he means to ease Changkyun’s panic or his own, if Changkyun can feel panic at all in this state. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

Changkyun tiptoes back to life. Lips ease open, the straw slides between teeth. Breathy suckling sounds puff out of him like air from a tomb. His eyes brighten as his hands curl around the glass. Over Gonzo’s face, veins disappear beneath skin, fragile bones swell into fingers. Changkyun’s eyelids flutter as he watches Hyungwon climbing back to his full height.

“Different? Easier?”

Changkyun _mhm_ ’s around the straw and wiggles in his seat. A bitter frown yanks at his mouth when he recognizes the cup.

“You wanna play that piece now?” Hyungwon leans against the harpsichord, the soft _thunk_ of bones against wood jostling it's strings. Changkyun draws out the straw’s ugly slurping noise, and the new blood gathers in his cheeks. He keeps the straw in his mouth to gnaw on, plops the glass in his lap, and wheels himself closer to the keys. He doesn’t meet Hyungwon’s eyes. 

“It’s okay. I’m sure I’ll love it.” Hyungwon smiles down at him. Changkyun meets his gaze for a millisecond, but casts his pleased, eager expression at the black and white keys instead. Hyungwon balls his hands into fists to keep from grabbing Changkyun right there, squeezing and pinching until that tentative excitement bursts into laughter and flappy hands and upturned eyes.

Changkyun shakes the last of the cement off of his hands and settles them against the lower keyboard. He starts carefully, drumming a low, throaty hum out of the black keys with his left hand. He glances up at Hyungwon, but Hyungwon isn’t sure that Changkyun sees him.

He is sure he can’t see Changkyun’s other hand, though, as it flits between the two keyboards. Blurred fingers snap out something agitated and shrieking, before the notes flutter off into the air, sweet and light and, then, not there at all. Just that dark melody that Changkyun’s left hand can’t get rid of.

The other hand starts up again, long fingernails stumbling over the keys in a way that feels deliberate, loaded. Over and over. The music jolts upward, falls apart, wades in the darkness. Over and over.

Hyungwon’s eyes strain to follow Changkyun’s hand. His ears ring. But his body’s swaying, somehow, to a rhythm he isn’t quite hearing. Maybe it’s the grinding repetition, or the deeper melody that almost sounds like silence. Maybe it’s just something about being in the same room as Changkyun.

The music carries on a moment after Changkyun’s hands fall to his lap to grip the empty Muppets cup. He smiles, straw still caught between his tiny, pointy, pink-stained teeth.

“How did you...? I don’t think I get it, but...”

“It's okay.” Changkyun shrugs, but something glitters in his eyes. Too wise for his round cheeks and fluffy hair. Too bright for the hazy moonlight leaking through the curtains. “You will someday.”

“Cryptic bastard.”

Changkyun kicks his legs out from beneath himself and swishes them wildly to make the chair swivel. Hyungwon has to stuff his hands into his pockets. 

“Did you get enough to eat, though? I saw you have plenty of blood, so why didn’t you drink any before I—”

“Dude, back off. You sound just like Ki—” Changkyun swallows the name. His legs go rigid. The sudden absence of his voice grows thick.

Changkyun spits the chewed-up straw into the cup, angry and sad and guilty in ways Hyungwon wishes he understood. Hyungwon lets his hands rush forward to flatten over the crown of Changkyun’s head. He doesn’t bother asking what’s wrong, who he’s remembering; he just weaves his fingers into the soft hair and rubs at the ice cold scalp. It’s obvious that Changkyun struggles to reach out, to wrap his arms around Hyungwon’s middle, to press his forehead into Hyungwon’s stomach. But he does. And that’s enough for Hyungwon to bear folding himself over his bony, frigid body.

Words get caught in Hyungwon’s throat. His palms get clammy, clammier against Changkyun’s cold skin. Changkyun’s complete and total stillness is unsettling. Like he’s cradling a stone, impervious to the pressure of his hands, to the warmth of his body. It makes Hyungwon feel absurdly alive.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Changkyun mutters and starts to pull away, but Hyungwon squeezes him even closer. He splays his hands out over his back, wide palms smothering silk. 

“You first.” 

Changkyun starts grumbling, but Hyungwon doesn’t want to let go. He might be a centuries-old, blood-sucking creature who knows just about everything about everything, but he still feels so hollow and small in Hyungwon’s arms, against his beating, breathing chest. Hyungwon wonders if the living Changkyun felt sturdier, before all this time started pressing in on him.

“Are you okay?” spills out of Hyungwon’s mouth, and he immediately cringes at the crackling, silly question. Changkyun looks up at him and digs his chin into his stomach, a smile spreading into his cheeks.

“Can I suck your blood?” He’s all teeth and fluttering eyelashes as he pulls himself even closer, the chair’s wheels bumping into Hyungwon’s feet.

“ _Cute_ ,” Hyungwon sighs and melts into Changkyun, even though he knows yet another one of his questions is being tucked beneath the creaky floorboards, behind the glass of a dusty curio cabinet.

“Loser.” Changkyun laughs. “Easiest prey _ever_.”

Hyungwon can only smile. He knows he’s ridiculously easy, but how could he _not_ be, when Changkyun’s suddenly bouncy and clingy and flirty? When he’s trusting Hyungwon with his hunger? When he’s really _here?_

Hyungwon tilts to peck Changkyun’s forehead, but he must move too slowly, too hesitantly, because Changkyun hoists himself up to fully kiss Hyungwon, clawing at his shirt front for purchase. Hyungwon’s breath falters and Changkyun’s grin prickles against his bottom lip. Hyungwon untangles Changkyun’s hands from his shirt, afraid his nails might puncture the cotton, and interlocks their fingers. He kisses him gently, openly, like he’s mouthing at an ice cube. Hyungwon imagines, hopes, _believes_ that Changkyun’s lips melt the slightest bit as they press against his own. 

A nip at his tongue forces him to peel away.

“Where to, Changkyunnie?”

“Bedroom.”

Hyungwon rescues the forgotten Muppets collector’s cup from its precarious position on the edge of the seat and sets it onto the harpsichord keys. Changkyun rolls his eyes.

“That’s _not_ a table, you know. That thing’s worth a fortune, and if my parents saw this...” he grouses and plucks the cup from the instrument, abandoning it on the floor. Hyungwon wonders if Changkyun has always masked his sentimentality with the whining particularity of a spoiled brat.

“Your parents paid a fortune for _most_ of your things, but you keep your blood in priceless vases and a McDonald’s collector cup all the same.”

Changkyun purses his lips, and for a moment, Hyungwon thinks he might _actually_ be about to say something about the harpsichord, something about his parents, _something_ —

“Are you implying that my Muppets cup _isn’t_ priceless? _Wow_. Cuts deep, man.”

They exchange equally weary glances, but Hyungwon doesn’t try to match the spark of challenge in Changkyun’s eyes. He settles for the reluctant acceptance of his offered hand, for the ice cold fingers laced between his own.

They wade through the sea of people again, but it’s easier not to feel the stares of dead strangers with Changkyun’s hand in his. Hyungwon wonders if Changkyun feels the same.

He tries to focus on the wood creaking beneath his feet and the flickering light thrown over the curling staircase, but Changkyun is too much like a ghost; fluttering silk, blanching skin, silent movements. Leading him forward. 

His pace quickens at the top of the staircase, and he tosses Hyungwon a smirk over his shoulder as he flings his bedroom door open. Hyungwon fills his lungs with Changkyun, his excitement, his hunger. Changkyun’s _here._ And he’s detaching from Hyungwon to bound towards his ridiculously big poster bed and he’s scrunching up the cheap jersey sheets as he nestles into a mound of pillows and he’s here, _now_.

Hyungwon lingers by the fireplace. Warmed from the outside, the inside of himself. Maybe the ghosts aren’t here, time isn’t so heavy, they can just _be_. Together. Now. Warmth seeps into their shared smile.

Hyungwon drinks in the slinky, pearlescent fabric curling around Changkyun’s pretty wrists, loosely gathered around his waist, and by some miracle, pooled _just_ enough over his hips to cover his bits.

“Have you been wearing that all night, or did you put it on because you knew I was coming?”

Changkyun laughs and raises himself up on his elbows to lower his eyelids at Hyungwon. The robe slips past one of his shoulders, exposing skin still pulsing with light pink. He shimmies it down even further.

“Who’s to say?” 

Hyungwon inhales sharply. _This_ Changkyun —like sparkling champagne, like a beam of sunlight— is the Changkyun that sees, hears, feels Hyungwon. Right now. With him. Here.

“Are those lollipop stick legs broken, or...?” Changkyun makes a grand gesture between himself and Hyungwon, raises his eyebrows impatiently. Hyungwon groans on behalf of his poor, melting heart. “I’m _hungry._ ”

Hyungwon strides over, trailing sugary heart juice behind himself, and straddles Changkyun. He lifts his torso up to smush against his chest, squeezes Changkyun’s hips between his knees, and cradles his head in his hands. Changkyun sighs, but doesn’t fight it; just lets Hyungwon tuck every single bony, pale, freezing bit beneath himself. He wills his body heat to start leaking out of him, and he might just be imagining it, but... Maybe Changkyun goes a little softer, a little warmer. Hyungwon whimpers.

“What part of ‘I’m hungry’ did you not understand?” Changkyun grumbles, but his smile tickles the crook of Hyungwon’s neck. He unfurls himself from Changkyun just enough to brush away his tangled bangs, to peck his forehead and nose and lips. Again and again, until Changkyun hooks his hands around the back of his neck, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

Hyungwon mirrors his movements; large hands gently guiding his head to angle his mouth up against Hyungwon’s. He parts his lips to give Changkyun better access, runs his tongue over Changkyun’s fangs to let him know it’s okay to take what he needs.

And Changkyun does. He practically dangles from Hyungwon’s neck, butt barely brushing the mattress as he pulls himself as close to Hyungwon as possible. His tongue rushes against Hyungwon’s rough palate and scarred cheeks and human teeth like glacial meltwater. His nails dig into Hyungwon’s skin like dull knives. He fills Hyungwon’s mouth with a shuddering moan.

Hyungwon jumps even though he knows it’s coming. The stinging, pinching pain. The panicked throbbing. The growl. 

Changkyun’s fangs pierce Hyungwon’s bottom lip, while his tongue slowly runs along the underside— to soothe Hyungwon or lap up droplets of blood, Hyungwon doesn’t know. The fangs sink into him, injecting his lip with zinging pain. Red warmth trickles— _bursts_ out from Hyungwon. Changkyun gnaws lightly at his lip, careful not to break any more skin, but wanting more, _more_ of Hyungwon in his mouth. Loud slurping is undercut with pleased moans and unsteady breaths.

Changkyun stiffens as he sucks and licks and _sucks,_ tilting backward with every gulp, and Hyungwon tries to keep hold of Changkyun’s head, but his hands go limp and slide down the silky expanse of his back. His eyes flutter closed, hiding the eager, clingy Changkyun from him. 

He can feel every drop of blood spurt out of his lip, rush through Changkyun’s hollow teeth, scatter throughout his unmoving body. He hopes his blood is warm. Hopes it helps. His body starts to sag. Warm honey floods his senses. 

Changkyun needs so, _so_ much. And he wants to give it to him. Whatever he needs. However much. He wants to paint Changkyunnie pink, to hear him plunk out that soft, fluttering tune again.

Changkyun starts to tremble as Hyungwon’s thoughts start to dissolve. He distantly understands that Changkyun’s keeping him upright, that the needlepoint pain has sunk into a dull ache. 

And he thinks he might be sinking, too. Into the cold earth. Half-frozen, musty, dark. Yeah. Dark. Maybe he should...? Is this...?

“ _Hyungwon?”_

Changkyun’s voice crackles and roars like burning wood, thawing Hyungwon‘s brain. He returns to Changkyun’s arms. To Changkyun’s pained, terrified expression. To his urgent babbling. But he isn’t surprised to see him.

“I-I’m okay. It’s—”

“No, _no_. Fuck. I’m so fucking sorry, I should’ve stopped sooner. I don’t know why I couldn’t—” He latches onto Hyungwon, gasping against the hollow of his throat. Blood trickles from Hyungwon’s lip onto the crown of his head, tiny rubies nestled in a bird’s nest.

“You just waited too long, you were _starving._ Invite me over sooner next time, or at least get some of the old stuff out of the fridge,” Hyungwon sighs and wraps himself around Changkyun’s softening, warming body. “You have to take care of yourself. You have to let me in.”

Changkyun doesn’t stiffen at that, doesn’t pull away. He just settles against Hyungwon, pulsing with life, and nods softly so Hyungwon knows he was heard.

“It’s okay. You’re good. _We’re_ good.” Hyungwon draws Changkyun closer to his beating heart. “I’m still alive, and you’re, _well_...”

“Wow. Just ‘cause I’m not _alive_ doesn’t mean I’m _dead_.” Changkyun puts scare quotes around the ‘alive,’ scowls at Hyungwon’s skeptical expression. “Could a dead guy do _this?_ ”

He proceeds to fling Hyungwon onto his back and pin him against the creaky mattress, both bouncing and laughing. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re only strong enough to do that _because_ you’re undead, but ok.”

“Keyword: _un_ dead, Hyungwon. As in, _not_ dead.” He punctuates the claim with a very warm, very alive kiss.

“Can’t argue with that,” Hyungwon mumbles and tugs Changkyun closer. They press together; pulsing and wiggling and smiling. Hyungwon’s world filters down to lace beneath his fingers, logs crackling in his eardrums, and the taste of blood in his mouth. 

He bends his legs, so Changkyun can lean back against his thighs. Stretched and soft. Back arching. Fangs glinting. The fireplace washes him in warmth and shadow, but Hyungwon wonders if the fire is really the only thing making him glow.

“You’re...” His brain won't let go of the words. His clammy hands clench the sheets.

“I’m yours,” Changkyun breathes, while Hyungwon _can’t_. He can’t breathe. Changkyun is—

“ _Mine?”_

“Loser.” Changkyun melts further against him, silken. “ _Yours_.”

And he is. In Hyungwon’s eyes, arms, veins. Yeah. His. He doesn’t have to wonder.

**Author's Note:**

> responses of any kind mean the world to me !!  
> (i might do a bit of a prequel spin off thing about changki)  
> u can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/showmeurteef) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/showmeurteef)


End file.
